


Marks that won't fade

by Vita_Umbrarum



Series: The author chases plot bunnies around Camelot [3]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Gwaine needs a hug, M/M, POV Gwaine (Merlin), SCREW CANON I DO WHAT I WANT, Self Confidence Issues, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, domestic knights, gwaine gets a hug, most of them are just mentioned - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:49:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24168385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vita_Umbrarum/pseuds/Vita_Umbrarum
Summary: Gwaine was a wanderer, a traveller, a vagabond, he had no ties and no marks beyond his own. He lived his life on the road, always on the run. He was fine and he didn’t care and he was alone. Until he wasn’t.
Relationships: Gwaine & Knights of the Round Table (Merlin), Gwen/Lancelot (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), gwaine/someone
Series: The author chases plot bunnies around Camelot [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1725211
Comments: 5
Kudos: 66





	Marks that won't fade

Gwaine was a wanderer, a traveller, a vagabond, he had no ties and no marks beyond his own. He lived his life on the road, always on the run. He was fine and he didn’t care and he was alone. Until he wasn’t.  
\--

When Gwaine and his sister were six their mother explained soulmarks to them. She showed them the crescent moon on her wrist and told them she was born with the mark, that it was unique and it showed the connection to the Old Religion that she always had had. Excited Gwaine had pulled up his shirt, showing the same crescent moon on his ribs, his sister had done the same, her mark was on the exact same spot. Their mother had laughed, and told them they were very special. She had taken off her shirt, showing a tattooed sun over her heart, explained it had been their father’s, that marks faded when people died so she had replaced it with ink. Gwaine’s sister had asked about the two identical wolves on their mother’s shoulder blades, which wolf was who. Gwaine’s mother hadn’t known. Gwaine and his sister both had two wolves, one on their right and one their left hip and a crescent moon on their ribs and the world was good. They were poor but happy and it’d be okay.

Gwaine was nine when the wolf on his left hip faded. They buried his sister in silence.

Gwaine was fourteen when the crescent moon went up in flames. He watched his mother burn and didn’t shed a single tear.

Gwaine was fourteen when he left everything behind. He was homeless, penniless, markless and alone. Gwaine was fine.

He roamed the lands of Albion aimlessly, he fought, drank and flirted. He was thrown out of more taverns than he could count, he got left for dead multiple times and sometimes he wished he had the strength to give up. He didn’t.

\--

It starts going wrong when he comes to Camelot, he takes a knife for the crown prince and wakes up in a bed he doesn’t recognize. He manages to get himself banished, twice, and once he leaves he finds two marks that weren’t there before. They are both platonic, he can feel it, and he tells himself doesn’t know from who they are. A tiny dragon graces the small of his back, but it seems incomplete, a red rose blooms on his left ankle, looking just as alone. He hides them and hopes they’ll fade over time. They don’t.

He meets Merlin again and they save Arthur in the perilous lands, a few days later Gwaine realizes a second dragon has appeared on his back, this one curling around the smaller one. Gwaine laughs at the irony of it all.

Again he meets the prince and his servant, he gets knighted and somewhere he vaguely realizes that this was how his life should have been. He doesn't sleep that night and the next day they take over the citadel. At first the tries to ignore the new marks, the ornate dagger that now graces his left side, the broadsword that spans all over his upper right arm, the white rose that has entertwined with the red one on his ankle, the lion that rests just below his heart. He never tells any of them.

\--

He knows they bear each others marks, but they never speak of a wolf. Every once in a while he sees them, it’s just flashes but he knows. Merlin and Arthur’s dragons are always together, no matter whose skin it is, the same goes for the red and white roses. The tip of claws or a pointed edge of a sword or dagger sometimes peaks out behind armor, the red and white of flowers escaping armguards or collars. Gwaine keeps his mail on and fastens the buckles a bit tighter.

He can hear the whispers, the rumors, _the lies,_ that follow him through abandoned hallways. Sir Gwaine, who doesn’t bear anyone’s marks. Sir Gwaine, who doesn’t have a soulmark. Sir Gwaine, who doesn’t have a soul. He laughs, but he doesn’t deny. He tells himself he’s fine, and that he doesn’t care. He drinks the hurt away, until he barely remembers his own name, and wakes up somewhere outside the tavern. He’s fine and he doesn’t care and he’s alone.

Sometimes he catches them together, Merlin and Arthur, Gwen and Lancelot, Leon and Elyan and Percival. He tells himself he belongs, in Camelot, with them. He lies, to himself, to the others, to everyone he meets. He’s a liar and he knows it, it’s how he survived. They don’t know him and it’s safer this way. He’s fine and he doesn’t care and he’s alone.

One of the marks changes from platonic to romantic. He knows who it belongs to because they steal his breath away. Gwaine thinks that maybe for the first time, he might actually love someone. He doesn’t want one night in the hay, no, he wants to keep them safe, hug them, kiss them, hold them when they go to sleep and wake up next to them in the morning. He knows he can’t have any of it, no one bears his mark, least of all _them._

Leon yells at him during training. The others snicker, ask him if he’s still drunk, ask him if he saw the pretty blonde last night or if it was the brunette this time. He tells himself it doesn’t sting. He gets drunk in his own room this time and thinks about leaving. He likes the castle and his job, he likes the people, he likes Merlin and Arthur, Gwen and Lancelot, Leon and Elyan and Percival. He doesn’t want to leave, mainly because he’s afraid they’ll just let him go.

It goes wrong. It always does.

\--

He can taste blood. He doesn’t know if it’s from his broken nose or his split lip -It’s both- and his head hurts, he’s cold and thinks a few of his ribs might be bruised. Vaguely he notes that his wrists are shackled to the wall somewhere above his head. Someone is yelling, he can’t make out the words, but he knows, feels that it’s directed at him. He’s tired but opens his eyes anyway and lifts his head to look around. They’re in a dungeon.

Right. They got captured by bandits, or at least he think they did. He can’t remember exactly what happened, they had been attacked and someone had yelled at him and he had been hit with something and from thereon it was all black.

Slowly blinking the dungeon comes into view. He spots Merlin and Elyan in one cell, the next cell over holds Percival and Lancelot. As he turns his head he sees Arthur and Leon in the cell with him. He knows now that Merlin is yelling, but his head feels stuffed with cotton and his thoughts are too slow to realize what the man is saying. He realizes that although he and Arthur and Leon are all shackled to a wall, the others aren’t. It’s confusing for a second since he understands that the prince and his first knight would be interrogated but he is just a knight, until he remembers that he is the resident drunk, and they probably thought he’d talk the most.

He remembers fists and pain and a whip but he doesn't know if it’s from this time or another. There are too many memories in his head. He tries to focus on Merlin but he can’t and tries to focus on himself. It’s a bad idea

The panic sets in once he realizes their mail has been taken, and his tunic has short sleeves and is for some reason more torn than he remembers and at least one mark is partly visible and everyone is going to be so, so pissed at him. He can’t remember how to breathe but it’s fine, it’s fine and the world goes dark.

\--

When he wakes up again he’s no longer shackled to the wall, he opens his eyes and realizes he’s laying on the ground in the forest. There are bandages around his bare chest and bits and pieces of a conversation swim around his head.

‘’Why did he never tell us?’’

He doesn’t know who _he_ is, or what this person was supposed to tell but he can feel the anger, hurt and confusion in the voice. He shudders, something is wrong and he doesn’t know what but he doesn’t want to find out.

‘’Does he have all of them?’’

‘’Maybe he knows the wolf?’’

That’s important. He knows somewhere deep down it is incredibly important but he can’t remember why.

‘’What if he _is_ the wolf?’’

His head hurts and the voices are too loud. He lets out a groan that turns into a pitiful whine and the voices go quiet. He lets the dark take him again.

\--

He dreams of an empty tiny house and a too small grave. He dreams of a pyre and a woman screaming. The dreams do not scare him, he has seen them a thousand times before. He has nothing to lose.

He dreams of an almost but not yet king glaring at him, hatred in his eyes and a sword in his gut. He dreams of four knights on a battlefield, their glassy lifeless eyes staring at a pitch black sky. He dreams of a servant girl with a sword in her hands, defiance in her eyes and a knife in her back. He dreams of the prince’s servant with poison dribbling down his lips and no air in his lungs. He dreams of his friends -Are they? They are, but is he theirs?- dying, surrounding him, chanting, words on their lips that he doesn’t want to hear. The dreams scare him, he has seen them a thousand times before. He has everything to lose.

Strong arms are carrying him, a gentle voice is talking.

‘’Stay with us Gwaine, we’re almost there. We’re almost home.’’

He lets out a small whine, he’s tired and everything hurts and he really wants to give up. A second voice cuts through his musings, the words are harsh but the tone is anything except that.

‘’If you die I’ll kick your ass and steal your booze.’’

He tries to laugh at that but it gets stuck in his throat and changes into a cough. The footsteps speed up and he’s jostled around a bit and he lets out another whine. If he were anywhere near his right mind he’d be embarrassed about it but he isn’t because he’s tired and hurt. Some part of his brain tells him he’s safe, that it’ll be fine, and for the first time in years, no longer, for the first time since he lost _them,_ he believes it. He’s hurt and he’s tired and he might be dying but he isn’t **alone.**

\--

He wakes up on a cot in Gaius’s chambers. There are bandages around his ribs and wrists and even one around his head. He lost his shirt, somewhere, somehow but he is wearing pants, although they’re partly rolled up, the roses on his ankles of full display.

Do they know? The wolf on his hip is still hidden beneath fabric, but he doesn’t dare to let himself hope. He’s alone in the room and he doesn’t know if that terrifies him or not. They left. Do they hate him? They brought him here, so maybe not, or maybe they just want him fully conscious when they yell at him and make him leave. The thoughts sting a bit, but strangely enough he doesn’t really care.

Gaius enters the room, and upon seeing him sitting up in the bed he ducks out for a second, says something to someone outside and comes back in again. The old man dumps a satchel on a workbench and makes his way over to Gwaine.

‘’You gave them all quite a scare you know.’’

‘’What exactly happened?’’

‘’You have several broken ribs, a broken nose, one very serious concussion and a handful of soulmates who are not happy with your decision that you never told them who you are.’’

They’re angry. They don’t want him. He will have to leave. He lets out a strangled whine and realizes he’s shaking. They’re angry, they don’t want him, he has to leave, he’ll be alone again and he doesn’t want to be alone. His chest hurts and he can’t catch his breath and maybe he’s dyin-

There’s a hand in his hair, softly combing through the bloody and matted strands. There’s a cape around his shoulders and a pair of hands keeping it there. There’s a voice softly telling him to breathe. There’s a heartbeat under his palm, slow and steady.

He breathes. The world comes into view. Merlin’s sitting in front of him, holding Gwaine’s hand to his chest, telling him to breathe. Gwen’s sitting next to Merlin, still combing through his hair. Arthur, Elyan, Percival and Lancelot are sitting on the floor, in a circle around his bed, staring at him, concern and worry in their eyes.

‘’You alright now?’’ a voice rumbles behind him, he doesn’t have to turn around to know the cape and hands on his shoulders belong to Leon. He nods, because he doesn’t trust himself to speak.

Merlin releases his wrist and moves his hand until it’s resting on Gwaine’s ankles, tracing over one of the roses. ‘’How long have you had them?’’ Gwaine picks at the blankets and stares at his lap. ‘’Gwaine,’’ Merlin repeats, ‘’how long?’’

‘’You and Gwen since I first came to Camelot, Arthur after the Fisher King, the rest after we took back the citadel.’’

‘’Why didn’t you say anything?’’

Gwaine stares at Percival. It’s a good question and he isn’t sure he can answer it. He has an answer, multiple even. Because he’s afraid, because they won’t have his, because they won’t want him, because everyone he cares about dies, because it’ll hurt less once they eventually gets sick of him and leave. He doesn’t say anything, they understand anyway.

It’s silent for a while. Gwaine shudders and pulls the cape, Leon’s cape, a bit closer around his shoulders. He isn’t cold but he has to try and hide them, the marks, the truth, himself, everything. Seven pairs of eyes are staring at him in pity and he knows, feels that an eight pair behind him hold the same emotion. He hates it. He doesn’t want their pity. Pity is worse than hatred.

Merlin pulls his shirt over his head. There’s a burn mark and some other scars on his chest that no servant should have and Gwaine wants to ask about them but he doesn’t because Merlin turns around and once again Gwaine forgets how to breathe. High up between Merlin’s shoulder blades is Gwaine’s wolf.

Gwaine laughs, it’s soft and broken and utterly terrified because it’s been so long since he has seen that mark anywhere other than his own hip and he doesn’t know what this means. 

Gwen pulls up her dress a bit and shows the same wolf, halfway up her left calf. Grinning Lancelot reveals his own wolf, also halfway up his left calf. Percival has one on his shoulder. Elyan has one hidden in his elbow. Arthur pulls of his shirt as well and proudly shows the wolf in the exact same spot Merlin has it.

The hands leave his shoulders and Leon appears in his sight. The older knight isn’t wearing a shirt either and Gwaine’s wolf is right there below the blonde knight’s heart and Gwaine decides he must be dreaming, that or he’s dead and managed to lie his way into heaven. If anyone could manage to lie their way into heaven it’d be Gwaine, it’s the only thing he’s good at really, besides running away and drinking. Lying, running, drinking, it’s all he ever has been, it’s all he is. 

It’s a lie.

Because he has people who care now. He has friends and their marks decorate his skin and his mark is on theirs and they care and they’d miss him if he left and it’s all he ever wanted. He doesn’t deserve it but he doesn’t care. He smiles, and it’s the first one in a very long time that feels real.

\--

There are days Gwaine doesn’t believe it. Days he stares at his skin, afraid that if he blinks they’ll fade. Afraid that if he blinks they’ll leave. They stay. They stay and remind him and he’s **loved.**

He draws _their_ marks everywhere because he doesn’t want to forget and the others convince him to get them inked. There’s a wolf on his left hip, a crescent moon on his ribs and then he adds a sun to the crescent on impulse. He won’t forget.

Samhain comes, but it brings no unexplainable cold, no dying friends, no dark magic and no empty funeral piles. The year passes and the king dies but there is a new one who is better, braver and was king long before he wore the crown.

More time passes and it brings danger and dungeons and fighting for stale moldy bread. It brings rescue and laughter and things they’ll joke about one day. It brings changed laws and a king-consort and a marriage between a commoner knight and a lady in all but name. Slowly magic seeps back into the land. It brings hope for a future.

The future brings snow and too cold mines, a dragon and betrayal. It brings a too young boy with too old eyes and skin as bare as Gwaine’s once was. It brings a small pitch black raven on his collarbone and tears when he shows it to the one it belongs to. 

It never brings a looming tower filled with bones. It never brings screams in an empty chamber. It never brings silent tears or a burning boat. It never brings a poisoned mind. It never brings a dying king and false accusations.

It brings them a girl filled with hate and treachery, but the raven listens to the dragons, he does not chase the mark that was once there. The girl dies with venom on her lips and anger in her eyes and the raven mourns but for someone who left long before she died.

It brings a battle, and more blood than should be possible, but no turncoat. It brings a victory because the priestess never learned. It doesn’t bring a small snake and unimaginable pain. 

It brings a golden age, and he’s there for every step of the way.

\--

He loves all the marks he has, although he loves the lion most. He knows the lion loves him most as well. The world is good, he is loved, and he’ll never be alone again.

**Author's Note:**

> Explanation about the marks;  
> Everyone is born with their own mark, the mark often repersents you or your heritage.  
> A mark forms on your body when you form a strong bond with someone, this can be platonic or romantic. If your conection to the person fades, the mark fades, although it can come back. If the other person dies the mark fades forever.  
> Some people share marks or have very similar marks, this means they're very strongly connected either through family or fate.
> 
> hope ya'll enjoyed, I'd love feedback if you have any time to spare, thanks and have a nice day!


End file.
